On the Paths Of the Fathers
by Caranthol
Summary: Thaundil son of Ereg joins the army of Gondor and fights in the Battle of Fornost. An independent sequel to Defenders of Gondor.
1. Chapter 1: Like Father, Like Son

Disclaimer: I don't own anything J

Disclaimer: I don't own anything J.R.R. Tolkien wrote whatsoever. Almost all the characters are my original creations, excepting Prince Eärnur and Glorfindel. This story is set in the years 1973– 1975 Third Age. The family of Ereg is featured also in my earlier fic Defenders of Gondor. Dilthwen addresses Ereg by his name, because she is his stepdaughter.

Chapter 1: Like Father, Like Son

Ereg was furious, as his son Thaundil stood before him, a defiant look on the young man's face. The father paced up and down the little study they were in, trying to control his anger.

"I told you not to join! What were you thinking?"

Thaundil answered quite calmly:

"You had better just to live with it. The contract cannot be cancelled anymore."

"You don't have to tell me that, I was myself tricked thirty years ago! You stupid boy, haven't you listened anything I have taught you?"

Now it was Thaundil's turn to get angry.

"I wasn't tricked, I signed with free will! You once had your chance to get glory, why shouldn't I have that also? And I'm not a boy, I came of age three months ago!"

"Then behave like a man and not like an impudent child!"

Thaundil would have answered, but his mother Riliel interrupted, nearly in tears:

"Oh, Thaundil, why did you do it? Is your life then so miserable, so that you risk it so easily?"

The young man calmed down a bit, but said vehemently:

"Mother, it is not miserable, but not good either. At this rate, I will never get my own workshop, and I am so tired to be Doronir's helper! And him and Dilthwen have their families, and I have not even a betrothed. Why shouldn't I don the uniform as father did?"

Ereg was further angered by this and exclaimed:

"So this is how you thank your brother? He could have given you nothing, but he allowed you to live in his house, fed you and gave you a share of his wealth!"

Thaundil answered:

"I am grateful to him for that and will pay him back all I owe some day. But it is time for me to try my own wings."

Ereg's face darkened, but before he could speak, the door opened and Doronir strode hastily in, followed by Dilthwen. The girl spoke:

"What is it, Ereg? You asked us come quickly."

Ereg answered coldly, only his flushed cheeks betraying any emotion:

"It concerns your brother. In his wisdom he has joined the army."

Doronir was aghast:

"Thaundil, are you mad? Don't you remember what father told us about the war? It was horrid! I have heard that an army will be sent to Arthedain any day now. Why do you want to get killed?"

The younger man didn't answer to the question, but addressed his father:

"Father, this is useless, the thing is already settled. I must hurry now, for I must be in the garrison before noon." He embraced Riliel, and continued:

"Mother, do not worry! Maybe I will not be sent to north. And if I am, father also came back in his time and that was graver danger than this."

Riliel could only sob at first, but then managed to answer:

"I wished that your father wouldn't have gone himself. But if this is your decision, there is nothing I can do. Go with my blessing!" She kissed Thaundil's forehead. He turned to offer his hand to Ereg, but the older man didn't take it. Thaundil shrugged and walked out, briefly embracing his siblings before that. Ereg watched him go, and sat heavily on a chair. Riliel retorted:

"Why didn't you even bade him farewell? Now he must think you withhold your blessing from him." Ereg's voice was icy:

"He has disobeyed me and had the nerve to shout back to me. He hasn't deserved my blessing. And if I decide otherwise, I can see him any day in the garrison." He rose wearily and said:

"Speaking of which, I must go too. I must see that the new recruits in my company are properly equipped." He tried to kiss Riliel for goodbye, but she turned away. He opened his mouth to say something, but changed his mind and walked out, greeting quietly the siblings as he went by.

--

The walk to the garrison lasted for an hour more than was necessary. Ereg stopped many times, staring over Anduin and thinking about his son. Ereg had tried to make clear what war was really like, but even when little, Thaundil had wanted to hear more of his father's adventures. In the age of fifteen he had actually accused Ereg of exaggerating the hardships. That time, after severe reprimand, the boy had finally seemed to take those words back. Now Ereg wondered if it had been only make-believe. He was still very angry, especially since the boy had also caused trouble between him and Riliel. He had not quarrelled often with her, but there had been a few veritable storms. It would possibly take some days and much effort, before he could appease Riliel.

He tapped his sword-hilt thoughtfully and tried to recall what had went wrong. Maybe it was the death of Corchion and Ylwen. The grandparents seemed sometimes to have greater influence upon Thaundil than his parents. What a pity, that the old man had died four years ago, soon followed by Ylwen. Corchion would have talked some sense to the boy. Thaundil resembled Corchion not in appearance only, but in temperament too. He was very stubborn, but had a kind and forgiving heart in the end. Ereg had to smile despite himself, when he remembered how Corchion had yelled at him thrty years ago. Now he understood all too well, why his father had been so upset. But Ereg's smile subsided, when he began to worry how his son would cope with the discipline; he had never been the easiest boy to bring up.

Ereg was surprised when he saw Thaundil waiting at the gate. The young man looked quite lost and bewildered in his uniform, which was slightly too large. He seemed to be only a boy again. Ereg knew that many recruits looked like that until they got used to the army, but this time it was his son. He stifled an urge to embrace Thaundil and immediately forgive him everything. Instead, he steeled himself and asked calmly:

"How are you here? You should be with your company."

Thaundil answered, his voice trembling a little:

"I have leave to speak with you. Father, forgive me my rudeness! You know how I am when I get angry. I couldn't bear to think I have lost your love and esteem." He offered his hand again to his father. This time Ereg took it.

"You haven't lost them. I was just disappointed how you did everything just opposite I have told you to. You should ask forgiviness from your mother. You don't know how devastated she was when she thought I was dead. Your decision upset her greatly, for it brought the old memories back."

Thaundil scratched his yellow hair, looking ashamed. Then he asked:

"Father, I have always wondered why did you stay in the army if you hate war so much. It doesn't make any sense."

"First it was only because I had signed a five-year contract. After that I was too old to learn my father's profession anymore. You should be thankful that you have been trained as a master carpenter. I hadn't finished my tuition thirty years ago, so I hadn't much choice."

Thaundil nodded.

"I thought that you secretly liked the soldier's life but didn't want to admit it."

Ereg smiled.

"You can get used to everything, save death. But tell me, in which company are you assigned? It was the last thing I could think of in the morning."

"The Light Cavalry Detachment. I can ride a little, so they took me in."

Now Ereg could indeed see that his son wore the wide trousers and short cloak of a horseman. He said, now even more worried:

"That wasn't wise. The ponies and old cart-horses you have ridden are not any war-horses. You must be very careful, or you'll break your neck."

"I will watch out, father. Have you any advice to give me, before I go?"

Ereg thought for a moment and answered:

"Not just now. But if you are in trouble, come to me! I can't help you much if you mess up, but I can always try to advice you." He took Thaundil's face between his hands and kissed his son's forehead.

"You have my blessing. Just take care of yourself!"

Thaundil turned to go, but when he had walked only for some ten yards, something flashed in Ereg's mind. He shouted to Thaundil, who turned. Ereg came to him and said:

"I have one advice to give now. Remember, in the army all shit flows downwards. When you remember that, it will be easier."

Thaundil's eyes widened. His father almost never cursed. Ereg patted his shoulder, laughed dryly and said:

"Welcome to the army, son."

--

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	2. Chapter 2: The March Begins

Disclaimer: See chapter 1.

Chapter 2: The March Begins

Like his father, Thaundil quickly learned to hate the wake-up whistle. He also understood now why Ereg seldom spoke of his work. The life in the army certainly was interesting sometimes, but not in a pleasant way. He found, however, that he enjoyed handling the horses. He never became an excellent rider, but after a few months he was decent enough. At least once a week the squadron made a day-long riding march to accustom the men quickly to their steeds. At first Thaundil hated these marches, because he had joined in winter. The raw wind and rain were biting, and he felt miserable, while swaying tiredly in his saddle or huddling inside his cloak in breaks.

But when the spring came, his mind changed. When Sulimë came and the sun began to warm, he even eagerly awaited the marches. It was very pleasant to get out of the garrison and feel fresh spring-air on his face. Sometimes they rode on the road leading towards Minas Tirith, only returning in the evening. At other times, they let their horses to gallop over open fields on the banks of the Anduin. Thaundil had got a good steed, a black mare who was nimble and could run long before it tired. The young man kept very good care of it.

When in the garrison, they had various exercises, on horseback or on foot. One of the most usual was to ride in full gallop towards a bunch of twigs and cleave it in half with the sword. It wasn't so easy as one would have thought, and many troopers fell to the ground before they learned the trick. Thaundil got his ample share of bruises, but wasn't luckily hurt badly even once. The other exercise during which falling was a threat was spearing straw dolls from horseback. One had to do it properly, so that the spear didn't stuck. Besides the cavalry training, they were instructed in the basics of infantry fighting. There was only one hour in every two weeks, so it wasn't very complete, but Thaundil felt more sure nonetheless. After all, one could never know when one would become unhorsed.

Thaundil had luck, because his superiors were quite decent men. Their captain Orodil was a silent, stocky man who never raised his voice if not necessary. Lieutenant Nimthir, Thaundil's platoon commander, was more lively, a humorous little man, who laughed more often than rebuked. He was the favourite of the whole squadron, because despite his easy ways he managed to train the men efficiently. Thaundil's patrol commander ensign Ruinion was surly and quick to punish every infringement of rules, but even he seldom bullied the men needlessly. By and large, Thaundil wasn't unhappy if not very delighted by his new life.

At the first week Thaundil had tried to obtain an assignment to the equipment storage, because his uncle Nárion ran it. He had no luck, however. Nárion only shrugged helplessly.

"Sorry, lad, but I can't arrange it. I have two helpers already. They are so good in their job that I can't kick either of them out. Besides, you have such an easy time in cavalry."

Thaundil didn't agree, but there was nothing to be done. He comforted himself with the thought that it would be more manly to be in all exercises instead of sauntering in the storage. Somehow the thought wasn't much of a solace, however.

--

The strangest thing to Thaundil was that he was actually feeling closer to his family now. He saw his father many times a day and they usually managed to exchange a word or two. He had only Wednesday evenings and Sundays off, so he enjoyed being with his mother and siblings on those occasions more than ever. Doronir, for example, had previously seemed niggardly and surly to him, but now he saw that he was only careful and thoughtful. Dilthwen's constant chattering had often irritated him before, but now he listened with pleasure her little jokes and quick conversation.

When the first Sunday of Nárië came, Riliel and Ereg suggested to Thaundil that they would take a walk after the noon-meal. They went to the southern part of the city, by the banks of Anduin. There Riliel stopped in a public garden before a worn stone bench. She sat on it and said to Thaundil:

"This is the place where I first realized I loved your father, almost exactly thirty years ago. He was so young, so shy." She sighed, smiling and gazed over the River.

"He was only twenty. I was quite moved by that he had hurt his knee, but still came to take me for a walk as he had promised. I hesitated about my feelings because of his youth, but when we sat here, and he took my hand, I knew. I have never regretted that decision."

Her eyes wandered again to the flowing water, Thaundil and Ereg being silent. The young man tried to imagine his parents here so long ago. It was quite hard, though, because both of them now had much grey in their hair. After a while Ereg broke the silence, sitting beside his wife.

"I remember it like yesterday. Riliel, do you recall how I couldn't say a word to you? You looked so beautiful that I thought I couldn't ever be worthy to even touch you. And it was you who first kissed me, for I dared not."

The old couple smiled in their memories, and Thaundil didn't say anything. He realized once more how much his parents cared for each other. Ereg rose soon and said to his son:

"We yearly come here to recall those days. We have been here with Dilthwen and Doronir a few years ago, and now we thought we could take you with us. It was a fine day for a walk anyway, and we wanted to tell the story to you." Thaundil asked:

"It was very kind of you, but why now?"

"It may be that we are soon separated for ever. The war is again coming, and we may be sent there. I wanted you to know our full tale before it. Besides, if I fall, I want you to remember both your parents here, happy for maybe the last time."

Thaundil was moved, but Ereg only smiled and went on:

"This was also the place where I met your sister for the first time. She was quite startled and Nárion was very embarrassed when I suddenly appeared. Your uncle had let me and our other comrades to believe he had a woman somewhere. I at first thought Dilthwen was his daughter."

Thaundil laughed at the thought and they all started towards home, the birds singing over them in the trees.

--

The war didn't start very soon, however. It was only in an early morning in next Nárvinyë when ensign Ruinion ran to the quarters of Thaundil's patrol, holding a parchment in his hand. For once Ruinion seemed excited.

"Pack up, troopers! We are going to war. The march starts today at noon, so you have only a few hours."

After feverish packing and saddling of horses the whole squadron stood on the parade field, with the rest of the regiment. Cold winter wind blew and waved the banners and the cloaks of the soldiers. Thaundil was cold and wet in the dripping rain. The commander of the regiment stood before the men, reading from a parchment:

"We, Eärnil, King of Gondor, have decided to send aid to our brother kingdom of Arthedain in their hour of need and after several messages from King Arvedui. We have assigned our beloved son and heir Eärnur to command the navy and the forces sent to Arthedain. We expect that every soldier does his best in the oncoming battle and pray for the protection of the Valar. Given in Nárvinyë 6, in the year 1975 of the Third Age."

The colonel folded the parchment and continued:

"Soldiers! You heard the order of our beloved King! Arthedain will fall, if we don't help it. Remember that they are Dunedain also. The evil Witch-King of Angmar has sent his whole host against Arvedui. Our commands are to stop them. The regiment will march to Pelargir and sail from there to the north. Be strong, when your weapons are needed! Long live to our King!"

Two thousand mouths repeated the shout "Long live the King!" and the captains led their companies to barracks. Thaundil wasn't afraid, though it was now sure he would have to fight. His blood raced in his veins, and he guessed his father had once felt something similar. They took their packs and mounted the horses. Thaundil's best friend Hathelion, a tall but thin red-haired man, rode beside him. He smiled, showing his large teeth.

"Well, we are going to cleave some heads at last!"

"What's so cheerful in it?"

"Some real action at last! I joined the army to kill the evil guys, not some straw dolls."

Thaundil shook his head, grinning. Hathelion talked very much and one could not always say if he was serious or joking. But he had definitely been frustrated with the training and constant waiting. As he put it:

"Soldiers always wait for somebody to order them to go somewhere to wait for being ordered to wait some more."

Indeed, in the army things went sometimes very slowly on, only to be suddenly changed to feverish action. Only the day before they hadn't had the slightest hint about the march, save the usual rumours. Now they watched from horseback as the cart-drivers hauled loads of food, equipment and hay in their wagons, cursing profanely. After that was done, captain Orodil ordered them to move on. The banner of the squadron was unfurled and they rode out of the gate, icy rain still battering them.

--

They came to Pelargir five days later and had to wait the infantry battalions there for two days. Thaundil hoped they would soon be in the ships because sleeping in a draughty tent wasn't his favourite pastime. After the infantry had arrived, the regiment moved to the harbour of Pelargir. Thaundil recognized his father bellowing orders to some men-at-arms who looked at him sheepishly. The equipment and horses of the cavalry detachment was still being loaded in the ships, so Thaundil obtained leave to go to greet Ereg. His father was, however, so concentrated on his tasks, that when Thaundil approached him, he yelled angrily:

"Trooper, what the heck are you doing here? Do you see your bloody horses here? Your battalion is on the other side of the dock! You run there this moment or I'll kick you there!"

Then he recognized his son and blushed a little.

"Sorry, this whole march has been a bloody mess. I didn't recognize you at first, you troopers look all the same under your helms." He took his cap off and wiped some sweat away from his face.

"Fortunately my men are now in the ships, so I can chat a little." Then he suddenly turned his head and shouted:

"Nárion, are you ready with the equipment? Come here to greet your nephew!"

The small lieutenant walked with a limp to them. He shook hands with Thaundil and tapped the pavement with his cane. He asked with a wink:

"So, young hero, how do you feel about the coming adventure?"

"Oh, I am just a little nervous, but it will pass, I think," Thaundil answered. Nárion laughed:

"Just wait when the real crap begins, then you know what it is to be nervous! But I don't want to frighten you. Do your best and don't play any hero and you will be just fine." Then he grimaced and stooped to rub his knee. Thaundil was worried:

"Uncle, is it aching? How was your march?"

Nárion grunted and rose again:

"It aches always in these winter days. I was hauled here in a cart, but it rocked to and fro so much it is wonder my kneecap didn't drop off. Damn Easterlings, cowards to shoot from behind! Good that you paid them back, Ereg..."

When they spoke, Thaundil saw a fat man in a dress of a merchant staring at them. It seemed so strange that the young man interrupted his uncle's rant:

"Do you know that man? He stares at us quite stupidly."

The older men turned and suddenly shouted in joy:

"Manceleb!"

The fat man walked surprisingly fast to them and shook their hands, his face beaming with pleasure.

The three old friends were beside themselves with delight and constantly slapped each others' backs, laughing like schoolboys. Thaundil had not seen for years his father looking so young. Ereg recovered from surprise and introduced Thaundil:

"Manceleb, this is my son Thaundil. Thaundil, this is my old friend Manceleb. You have met once, but it was over ten years ago, I think."

Manceleb took Thaundil's hand in his huge paw and shook it heartily.

"Nice to meet you again! The last time you were only a stripling. So you are the son who joined the army. Ereg mentioned it in a letter to me a month ago."

Thaundil bowed politely and answered:

"I am pleased to meet, master Manceleb!"

Then he was ignored for some time, as the older men started to talk again. Nárion exclaimed:

"Why, Manceleb, you are now so wide that you could be a cargo ship yourself! It is truly a pleasure to see again, the last time was in the year sixty-nine, if I remember correctly." The other laughed good-naturedly:

"And you are so thin you should be a bird, especially as you hop like a magpie!"

Thaundil expected his uncle to become angry at this, but Nárion only smiled. Then Manceleb explained why he was there. He had rented three of his five ships to the navy and had came to see if the sailors could handle them. There was nothing to be feared, however. The sailors of the navy had been accustomed to even bigger ships.

"I make a huge profit out of this. The navy paid me for a year beforehand and more is promised if they need my ships longer."

The conversation was ended soon, when whistles were blown behind them, followed by a shout:

"Officers of the second battalion, on board!"

Ereg recognized the voice of his regiment commander and said to Thaundil:

"So, we will surely see again in Lindon. Have a good journey, if it's possible!"

They embraced briefly and Ereg hurried to the ship. After shaking hands with Nárion and Manceleb, he heard a clear horn-blow and a command:

"Light cavalry troopers, on board!"

He ran away and joined his squadron. Soon he had put his pack in a corner in the hold of the ship and rose to the deck again with the others. He saw the crowd who watched cheering, as the soldiers waved to them from decks. The ship glided further from the dock, and he waved and shouted good-byes to the people on the docks, no more nervous but almost waiting to get to their destination.

--

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	3. Chapter 3: The Battle of Fornost

Disclaimer: See chapter 1

Disclaimer: See chapter 1.

Chapter 3: The Battle of Fornost

Thaundil swayed wearily on his saddle. The day had been long and the march was coming to a close. Maybe they would tomorrow reach their goal, the North Downs near Fornost. When the sun began to set, they were ordered to prepare a camp for night. Thaundil clambered down from the back of his mare and helped to erect the tent for his patrol. He was cheerful as he thought he would now get some sleep. But his luck was bad tonight. Lieutenant Nimthir pointed at him.

"Trooper Thaundil, you have the first watch tonight! Arm yourself."

He was crestfallen but took nonetheless his short hauberk on and started to circle the tents of his platoon, spear in hand. His weary mind wandered to the events of the long march.

--

After a stormy sea voyage they had finally arrived at Lindon, almost all men thoroughly sick. They had disembarked in Forlindon. Thaundil had gasped when he saw the number of the ships. There had been only just enough room to anchor all of them. There had been a chaos in the docks, but finally the companies and squadrons were formed and could move eastwards. That was now sixteen days ago. They had first marched to the Grey Havens, where Lord Círdan had waited for the troops. They had marched past him, Prince Eärnur standing beside the Elf. Thanduil had wondered at the sight of Círdan. Although the Elves weren't supposed to have a beard, Círdan had a long, silvery one. Both he and Eärnur had made a little speech, the former thanking them for coming.

Later Thaundil had asked lieutenant Nimthir about the beard of Círdan. The officer had grinned:

"You know, they usually shave their beards, but Círdan has made a vow not to touch a razor until the last Elf has sailed to the West."

It made sense at first, but then somebody had explained Nimthir had only joked and Círdan's beard was due to his age. He had probably awakened at Cuívienen, countless of thousands years ago. Thaundil tried to remember the little lore he had learned, but couldn't say how long ago that was. The only thing he knew was that from the Shipwright's eyes shone infinite wisdom and experience of three Ages. Although Eärnur was a mighty man, a true Dunadan, the Elf was still taller and somehow more kingly, even though simply clad in silver-grey.

After the Grey havens, they had rode towards east for many days, trying to cover as much distance as they could. Círdan had told Eärnur that Arthedain had already fallen and that the Witch-King reigned in Fornost Erain, calling himself the king of Arnor. A messenger had told Thaundil that hearing this, Eärnur had only answered grimly:

"I will see that soon he is the King of Maggots, with six feet of earth as his realm."

He had good reason for his arrogance, for his host was one of the biggest ever sent forth by Gondor. The road leading east was so packed that some companies had to march along the forest paths, nobody clearly knowing their whereabouts. Mounted messengers had to ride their horses almost lame, trying to find scattered detachments. Shortly before reaching the southern end of Emyn Uial the host had divided in two, most of the cavalry going round the hills and the rest of the army spreading on the shores of Nenuial. The cavalry had now circled the hills and going southwards. The cart-drivers, messengers and adjutants rumoured that the evil King had come with a huge army from Fornost and that the battle was imminent.

--

Thaundil was thoroughly startled when an unearthly wail came just from behind. At the same time, a heavy hand was placed on his shoulder. He dropped his spear, his knees quaking. He turned when he heard the familiar laughter of lieutenant Nimthir. The lieutenant shook his finger at the young man.

"Boo! I am the Witch-King and you are dead, trooper! Such a vigilant guard, I stood within ten yards of you all the time and you just passed me several times."

He pointed to the shade of a large fir, still snickering.

"I stood there. Why, a whole Orc-squad could hide there!"

Thaundil was ashamed and worried. With enemy so near, he could be severely punished. The lieutenant, however, had other thoughts. He just whistled and looked up to the sky, where the Sickle was just rising above the horizon.

"A bit tired, are you? Your watch ends in half an hour. As a reward for this, you shall have a double watch tomorrow night. Tonight, rest properly so you can fight when needed."

Thaundil stammered, relieved:

"Uh, thank you, lieutenant, I…"

"No thanks, I am just doing my duty. So should you. I trust you won't be slack in guard anymore. Or am I mistaken?"

Thaundil saluted Nimthir.

"Yes, lieutenant, I mean no! You can trust me from now on!"

Nimthir patted his shoulder and strode to his tent. Thaundil thanked the small officer heartily in his mind. Although the punishments in the garrison were light, in the vicinity of the enemy he could have earned twenty strikes of whip. Nimthir really knew how to handle these situations without a fuss. A double watch was very lenient, indeed. But Thaundil nonetheless steeled himself, deciding not to betray the officer's trust anymore. He began to watch the woods around him carefully, striding to and fro until the next guard relieved him from duty.

--

At dawn, a messenger covered by dust rode to the camp, creating a great fuss. He jumped from his panting steed and ran towards the commander's tent. The guards would have stopped him, but the man shouted:

"A message from the Prince! Quickly, let me in!"

Very soon trumpets were winded and sleepy men rushed from tents, some still only in their undergarments. The major commanding the Osgiliath Light Cavalry stood before the bewildered crowd of his men. Once the detachment had chaotically formed, the major announced:

"Troopers! The battle has started in the south. The enemy is hard pressed, but we are needed to provide the last strike. We will leave immediately. Every man to arms and then mount your steeds! The outcome of the battle may depend on us, make haste!"

A few hectic minutes followed, but at last every man was in saddle, wearing the full battle array. The other battalions prepared also feverishly, and long before noon they rode southwards, leaving the still yawning cart-drivers and cooks behind.

The cavalry stopped only after a few hours to eat and tend the horses, but soon the ride was continued. Now they went slower, for the horses had to recover a little and the commander feared enemy scouts and patrols. Hathelion rode beside Thaundil and they conversed a little. Hathelion said with false cheerfulness:

"Just a little time and then we'll kill some filthy Orcs! I hope they leave some spoil, I want to take something to my sweetheart when I get back."

"What, you would take her a crooked sword or something similar? I don't think she will be delighted."

Hathelion stared at him, irritated.

"I must take her something, and if it is a weapon, so much the better! Then she will know I am a real man, taking spoil while risking my neck."

Thaundil shook his head.

"Hathelion, there are more ways to prove you're a real man. If that wench wants you to risk your neck, she's not worth much."

Hathelion waved his fist.

"You are such a baby! What could be more exciting than put your life in danger to win the heart of a lady?"

Now Thaundil was again unsure if his friend was joking. But when he glanced at Hathelion, he saw that the tall man was deathly pale, his jaw clenched. Thaundil realized that Hathelion tried to encourage himself with his stupid reasoning. Thaundil himself felt cold sweat running down his back, although the sun of Lótessë was very warm. He spurred his mare a little too hard, for it was slowing down. He had to rein it gain, earning a painful snort from the animal. He patted the neck of the horse, soothing himself more than it with his words:

"Now, now, old girl, only one good fight and we can get home. Just a bit of swordplay. I know you will carry me well. Just stay calm, and we will survive. No reason to fear, none at all."

He was interrupted by Hathelion, who shouted:

"Stop your ranting, moron! You make me sick with that!"

Thaundil was about to answer, but then ensign Ruinion rode beside them and yelled:

"Shut your holes! Every man here is afraid, but all don't blabber like village idiots!"

The two troopers fell silent, knowing Ruinion to speak the truth. The only soldier in the whole squadron who had been in battle before was the captain. Thaundil felt his sweating worsening, as they came on a long ridge, from where the battlefield could be seen.

On the open and wide plain two armies battled fiercely, like two waves trying to drown each other. On the right side of plain Nenuial glittered in the sunlight, making the position of the host of Gondor less than ideal. If the enemy would prevail the lake would be a serious hindrance for regrouping or retreat of the southern wing. But fortunately the Gondorians seemed to be winning. Banners waved in the wind and tightly formed regiments bit large holes into the black mass before them. In the southern extremity of the field, the front of the Orcs and Hillmen was already bent and broke even as the cavalrymen looked on. Even from far away, Thaundil could see the silvery banner and grey uniforms of the Osgiliath Regiment. He knew that somewhere amidst the tumult his father fought and hoped he would emerge unscathed. Slowly the hordes of the enemy's southern wing turned to flight. Horn-calls of Gondorian regiments blasted and the grey-clad forms rushed forwards. Despite of the sight of victory, Thaundil felt fear twisting his guts, until he almost vomited. He hoped that their aid would not be needed.

But as he fought with his nausea, the trumpets were winded and the banner-carrier of their squadron unfurled the assault flag. It was red, the White Tree and stars meaning Osgiliath embroidered on it in silver. The commander of the cavalry shouted:

"To attack! For Gondor!"

The squadrons charged down the low slope, right into the unprotected northern flank of the enemy. Thaundil forgot his fear for a moment and spurred his steed onwards. Soon they were amidst the black ranks. Thaundil was disgusted when he saw the Orcs closer. Their grey or black faces, yelling in fury, were the most horrid thing he had ever seen. He controlled his feelings, however, and gripped his spear firmer. When his squadron crashed into the enemy, he speared one of the creatures calmly, just like in the practice-field.

Two more went down, but then the spear stuck between the ribs of one large Orc and was wrenched from his hand. He reeled in his saddle, shrieking in fear, for falling would have meant certain death. Somehow he managed to steady himself and drew his sword. He began to hack the hideous faces, feeling disgusted and furious at the same time. Then, just when he was lifting the weapon once again, a bold Orc leaped, grasping the reins and trying to unhorse him. There was no room to use the blade, so Thaundil brought the pommel of his sword down on the Orc's face. The creature's nose seemed to break and sink deeper in its shrieking face, black blood smearing Thaundil's uniform. The Orc lost its hold and fell under the thundering hooves.

Thaundil couldn't later say how much time had passed, but suddenly the enemy was in full flight, the Orcs and Hillmen running in a confused mass eastwards. The cavalry was momentarily stopped by an order to regroup, but suddenly Prince Eärnur himself rode past them with his guard, shouting:

"The Witch-King flees, after him! Follow me!"

All charged forwards, trampling the fleeing enemies as they rode northeast. After a while they saw a large group of horsemen coming from east, and prepared to fight. But suddenly they realized that the faces of the riders were Elven-fair and rejoiced, for they knew that they had got help from Imladris. Foremost rode a tall Elf-lord, his golden hair flowing from under his high helm. Thaundil looked in wonder at him, for he was almost as kingly in bearing as Círdan and as tall. The Elf rode to the Prince, and greeted:

"Hail, Prince Eärnur! Lord Elrond sent me, Glorfindel, to aid you in the battle. But I see you have already won!" The Prince was delighted and answered:

"Hail, lord Glorfindel! Not all is yet won, the foul King flees and you may be of help in the pursue."

"Then let us chase him, and woe to him when we overtake him!"

With that, the now strengthened host galloped onwards, while the sun began to sink into West. It was not long when they saw a mass of riders before them, all clad in black. Some infantry was also grouped around the squadron. The Gondorians blew their horns and charged at the enemy. The fight was quite brief, the Hillmen and Orcs being no match for strong and well-armed Men of Gondor. Prince Eärnur laughed aloud as he smote the enemy, his sword and armour shining in the dying sunlight. But when all seemed to be over, a black dread fell suddenly on every man.

The ranks of remaining enemies divided, and from between rode a tall figure on a black, great war-horse. Thaundil cowered in his saddle, when he beheld the evil King. A great, black helm covered his face and supported a crown made of black steel. The Witch-King rose in his stirrups and cried strange, foul words in an evil voice. Thaundil felt like fainting, and a few men actually fell from their saddles, shivering on the ground. Thaundil was sure that he would die, when the tall King drew a long sword which shone with a fell light.

But the Witch-King was not interested in lesser opponents, his goal was Prince Eärnur himself. With a chilling war-cry he spurred his great steed and charged towards the Prince. Eärnur's face was grim, not betraying a hint of fear. His horse couldn't stand the terrible sight, however, but bolted and galloped madly away. Then the fell King laughed, and so horrible was the sound that Thaundil had to cover his ears, which couldn't bear the evil in that voice. His vision became darker and he feared he would become mad at any moment. He whimpered in terror, the cold laughter still ringing in his ears.

But just when the cavalrymen seemed to be ready to flee, a bright form rode towards the black King. It was Glorfindel, whose whole form seemed to shine with a furious glow. The blackness left Thaundil's eyes and he watched in amazement as the Elf-lord charged onwards, letting a clear war-cry out. The fell wraith suddenly stopped laughing and wheeled his horse around, vanishing quickly in the shadows, for the sun had just set. Thaundil breathed deeply, still shivering all over. His mare also neighed pitifully and felt sweaty. The young man felt immensely relieved, for all was silent. But suddenly the Prince rode back, cursing his enemy. He would have rode after the Witch-King, but Glorfindel grasped his reins and said gravely:

"Do not pursue him! He will not return to this land. Far off yet is his doom, and not by the hand of man will he fall." But Eärnur was still furious, and shouted, shaking his fist to the darkness:

"You coward of a King! One day we will meet again, and woe to you then!"

The men nearby wondered the meaning of Glorfindel's words, but soon their attention was diverted to their own affairs. Hathelion wiped sweat from his brow, and said to Thaundil:

"Now for the spoils! There will be plenty, and not just worthless Orc-gear!"

Thaundil turned his head to answer, but suddenly several bows sang from the nearby thicket. One arrow pierced the head of Hathelion, who fell from the saddle, his mouth still opened for laughter. A few others were also hit. As Thaundil turned his horse, a second volley was loosed. He felt a piercing pain in his right thigh, and realized he was hit. A burning agony spread to all of his leg, and he swayed, shrieking in pain. He would have fallen if lieutenant Nimthir wouldn't have ridden to his side and supported him. He felt blood flowing along the flank of his mare, as he watched with blurrying vision his comrades to charge to cleanse the thicket of the last Orc-archers. The burning worsened, and he fell on the arms of the lieutenant, knowing no more.


	4. Chapter 4: Homecoming

Disclaimer: See chapter 1

Disclaimer: See chapter 1.

Chapter 4: Homecoming

Thaundil heard voices, first as if from afar, but gradually clearer and nearer. He realized that his father was talking, and opened wearily his eyes. Turning his head he saw that he laid on a blanket, under which was thickly straw. Ereg stood only a few yards away, speaking to a man who looked like a healer. There was grave concern in his voice.

"What ails him? The wound wasn't so deep or dangerous as to make him unconscious."

"The arrow was poisoned, but don't worry, captain. It has been tended now. He was in a serious fever for a day, but last night it subsided. They have a wonderful plant here in the north, athelas they call it. We bathed the wound with water it was boiled in, and the poison was removed. I think the terror of seeing the black King was a greater threat to him. We expect him to wake up any moment, however."

Thaundil felt that his mouth was parched, but tried still to speak. He only managed to croak:

"Father..."

Ereg was instantly by his side, his eyes glittering with tears.

"Oh, Thaundil! How I feared for you!"

The young man croaked once more:

"Water..."

Ereg lifted a wooden cup to his lips and he drank greedily. After that Thaundil felt much more refresfed and asked:

"Where am I? I remember Eärnur, that horrible wraith and being hit with an arrow but nothing else."

"You are near the Lake Evendim, in the tent of the healers. You were brought here the day before yesterday and have slept since."

Ereg offered his son some more water and turned to the healer.

"Will he heal completely?"

The healer shrugged.

"As far as I can see. He will have no limp, but will carry a scar for rest of his days. Some aching will also be probable."

Ereg sighed in relief, but Thaundil was too tired still to even rejoice that he was alive. He shut his eyes and wandered to sleep again.

--

Three weeks later he hobbled on board a ship which was arranged for the transport of the wounded. Forlindon was again full of soldiers, the officers tearing their hair in despair while trying to create some order. Thaundil was supported by Ereg and Nárion as he leaned heavily on a cane. Nárion joked:

"Now we both are magpies. I wish we had wings."

The jest was not particularly good but Thaundil smiled nonetheless. They indeed resembled magpies in their grey tunics and black boots. He answered:

"Uncle, weren't you wounded in like fashion?"

"Yes, just when I thought I was safe, some Wainrider bastard thought I was a good mark. You were lucky, though. Just a bit lower and you would need a cane for the rest of your life. Funny that we both earned corporal's stripes just for being shot at."

Thaundil nodded and walked on board, grimacing with every step. Eärnur indeed had rewarded many of the cavalrymen who had been in the encounter with the Witch-King. New white stripes were sewn on Thaundil's lower sleeves, but going home was more important than any promotion. He had wondered when he had seen that one man of his platoon had been given the rank of an ensign. The man had died of his wounds next night and was only momentarily conscious before that. It was like mockery to... He wiped the thought from his mind. What then if dying men were rewarded? The honour had been earned, after all, and if it came only two hours before death, so what?

He settled down on a hammock in the hold of the ship and said to Ereg:

"Father, do you think they will release me now? I'm not fit for anything for a few months."

Ereg smiled sourly.

"So, now the soldier's life doesn't taste you anymore? I don't think you will be released from service. Look at your uncle. All he got was three months' leave and the assignment of equipment officer."

Thaundil sighed.

"So, it means still four and a half years left. Well, I guess I must sleep in the bed I made for myself."

"Yes, I fear so. But do not be depressed! At first you will have your leave and after then, well, time flows quickly."

Ereg turned to go, saying:

"Now, goodbye for a time! We'll see in Pelargir at latest."

"Goodbye, father!"

--

The sound of heavy soldiers' boots echoed from the pavement in the Oak Street of Osgiliath. Ereg strode once again home with Nárion. This time they were accompanied by Thaundil. Ereg smiled when he thought about a hot summer day over thirty years ago. He had been then also hurrying to meet his beloved again. It was now Urimë also and the weather was beautiful, just like once. He turned to Nárion:

"This brings memories to mind, doesn't it?"

"Yes, it does. But don't make our young friend weary. And I myself didn't want to experience this again." Thaundil was surprised.

"Why so? Isn't it wonderful to come home again?"

"Yes, but I'd rather leave never and be home all the time and avoid being hauled hundreds of miles in between."

Ereg sighed.

"Well, at least for me this is the last homecoming of this kind."

Nárion and Thaundil were both intrigued. The latter asked:

"Why then?"

"Because I resigned from the army just yesterday. Next monday I can finally lay my uniform down. I realized in the north that I am too old for this."

Thaundil grimaced. He had still more than four years left. Ereg sensed his resentment.

"Son, don't fret. You are still young, but for me it is time to prepare for winter."

As he said that, they were before the house of Ereg. The old captain mounted the steps and knocked. Soon he saw the surprised face of Riliel in the doorway. He simply stepped in, embraced his speechless wife and kissed her. After that Thaundil stepped closer to receive an embrace.

Nárion whispered to the servants, who ran outside. After an hour they returned with Doronir, Dilthwen and their families. It was evening, and once again the walls of the old house echoed the celebration of soldier's homecoming.


End file.
